


Unafraid

by firehound



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firehound/pseuds/firehound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor sees Sansa and she is more beautiful than anything he's ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> First ever fanfic posting! :3

The club was crowded, and no one noticed the boy hitting her, but Sandor saw. The boy shoved her and she stumbled into the corner of a table, not crying out but her eyes widening in pain. The blond boy advanced on her, his hand raised, and Sandor drowned his drink, dropping it onto the floor next to him. It took two strides to reach the boy, the glass grinding under his boot. The drink was his third and maybe he wasn’t behaving rationally, but he couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed the kid by the collar and punched him in the face. Sandor hadn’t meant to hit him hard; he’d just meant to teach him a lesson but something _crunched_ and Sandor let go of him, seeing the kid’s blood on his knuckles. He turned to the girl. She was looking at the fallen boy, and when she saw Sandor she backed away, frightened. Sandor looked at his feet. Often he used his scars to scare people, but for once he didn’t want her to be afraid of him. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, then he looked her in the eye. “Are you okay?” She nodded, eyes wide. “I won’t hurt you.” Sandor stepped closer and this time she didn’t move, instead straightening and looking up at him. She nodded again and glanced at the boy.

“Don’t worry about him. Follow me.” He meant to say the last as a command but his voice tipped up and it sounded more like a question. He took her hand and led her out of the smoky room and out into the night air. They stood there for a few minutes and the girl collected herself, wiping at the wetness under her eyes. Finally her hands dropped to her sides.

“I’m Sansa.” Sandor tensed at the sound of her voice, clear and not shaky. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Sandor,” he scratched out. He paused, leaning against the rough brick behind him. In the streetlights she could see a bruise already blooming on her cheek, or had it been there before? She shivered at a puff of wind. _Sansa._ “Was he your ride, Sansa?” Her name felt beautiful on his tongue. 

“Yes.” Sandor closed his eyes briefly and opened them to see her hesitating, standing on one foot, teetering slightly. Her red hair fluttered in the breeze.

“Do you live far?”

She shook her head. “A few blocks.” Sandor pushed off the wall and stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. He felt shy as a schoolboy; it was an unfamiliar feeling.

“I can’t drive right now, but I’ll walk you home.” She looked up at him, both feet on the ground, and her mouth curled up in a smile. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her and he cast his eyes down for a moment. “Which way?” She pointed, and they set off. 

After a few yards, Sandor shed his jacket and handed it to her. “Your teeth were chattering. It’s irritating.” She only looked up and smiled, walking a few inches closer to him. “I just said you were irritating. How can you smile at that?” he growled, looking curiously down at her. Sansa spoke again, voice like a flute, and he almost stumbled at the sound.

“You said my shivering was irritating, not me.” She paused. “And you didn’t mean it, either.”

They walked again in silence, the girl looking shyly up at him every once in a while. She played with her hair, running her fingers in it, and Sandor wanted nothing more than to move her hands so he could run his fingers through it. He clenched a fist at his side, looking straight ahead.  He felt like he should say something; he never minded silence, but this new sense of shyness unnerved him. Instead of opening his mouth and saying something stupid, he remained quiet, watching her from the corner of his eye.

Finally Sansa slowed, coming to a stop where the sidewalk met a driveway, and she turned to face Sandor. She was standing a little bit closer than was proper, but he didn’t care. He looked down at her, watching her bite her lip. Suddenly Sansa stepped forward and hugged him, arms around his middle, and Sandor nearly fell over. He embraced her awkwardly, one hand at the middle of her back and one at her shoulderblades, fingers threaded through her hair. 

Just as quickly she stepped away, just out of reach in the moonlight. “Thank you, Sandor,” she whispered. He stood there, frozen on the sidewalk, unable to breathe.

He walked away in a daze, and by the time he remembered his jacket, she was gone, her fiery hair the last thing he saw in the night.

  



	2. Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments. :) This is exciting!

Sansa had fallen asleep within moments of crawling into bed, no dreams to keep her from the comforting darkness. She woke late in the morning and sunlight was streaming in through the window, brushing sweetly over her face. The jacket smelled of woodsmoke and whiskey. Breathing it in for a moment, Sansa remembered his scarred face and grating words. _Sandor._ She felt her lips turn up into a smile. She’d need to return his jacket, but she didn’t know how. He might go back to that club, but Sansa couldn’t bear the thought of being in the place again. 

Sansa put her hands in the pockets. They were empty aside from a small slip of paper that had his name on it, first and last. _Clegane._ On the other side was a phone number. His? Sansa didn’t know, but she dialed the number and stretched out on the bed, hissing at the pain of the bruises. _Forgot they were there…_ She blinked hard and dug her fingernails into her skin, feeling her eyes burn.

She ran her hands over the soft leather and listened to the phone ring. It took several moments, and Sansa was thinking about hanging up when he answered.

“Hello?” The voice was rough and she knew it was his. She smiled at the sound, forgetting the pain for a moment.

“Um. Hi.” She blushed. “I have your coat.”

A pause. “Sansa.”

She nodded, then remembered Sandor couldn’t hear her. “Yeah.” Sansa didn’t know what to say to him, so she played with the zipper on his jacket and waited. He didn’t answer for a while and she was about to ask if he was still on the line, but then he spoke.

“I know where you live… I could come over and get it from you.”

Sandor said he would be over in an hour, so Sansa showered and ate some breakfast, then fixed herself tea and waited.

Then a knock came at the door. She knew it was him, but when she saw him she felt herself light up anyway. She stepped backwards, letting him in. It had been too dark in the night to really see him, so she observed what he was really like. The scars on his face were more pronounced, and he seemed more solid, less like the dream she’d thought he’d been. He looked angry. Her shorts and tee shirt left her bruises exposed; he was casting his stormy grey eyes over the marks and she blushed. She turned and set her cup of tea on the counter, and darted down the hall to her bedroom.

Sansa returned wearing ripped jeans and a sweatshirt, covering her skin. She carried his jacket and handed it to him. Sandor’s eyes never left her, and she looked right back at him, sipping her tea, an amused smile at her lips.

Finally she broke the silence. “So… are you going to gape at me all day, or do you want to talk to me, or do something else?” She tipped her head up at him and his eyes snapped to hers.

“I wasn’t gaping.” His voice was raspy, just like she remembered. Sansa smiled and just stood, disbelieving. “Do I scare you?” he growled, taking a step toward her. Sansa’s instinct was to step back, but the counter was behind her and she couldn’t. She held her gaze.

“No. Why would you?” Sansa furrowed her brow, confused. Sandor had his scars, but they were a part of him; they _belonged_ to him, just like her red hair was hers. He shrugged and took another step forward. 

“I’m a scary man. Most little girls run and hide at the sight of me.” Sansa frowned. He stood close, and while the distance hadn’t mattered to her in the night, she felt slightly uncomfortable. 

“Not a little girl.”

He snorted. “You don’t look like one, but you act nervous as a little bird.” His eyes never left hers, and then he stepped back, mumbling an apology. And Sansa smiled again. His voice soothed her but his words and actions did not; she didn’t know what to make of him. She closed her eyes briefly then looked back at him. He’d stuck his hands in his pockets and he fumbled with his keys, the jingling muffled by the denim. “I should go.” Sandor’s voice was slightly hoarse. Sansa nodded. She stepped forward, about to hug him, but stopped abruptly. It didn’t feel right.

“Thanks for walking me home last night. And I’m sorry for forgetting to give you your coat.”

“You already thanked me, and there’s no need to apologize.” Sansa nodded again, biting her lip and Sandor left, ducking under the doorframe.

 


	3. Out

Her skin was mottled by bruises of varying ages, some were old and some new, and they all filled him with a cold fury. Sandor couldn’t understand how the girl could smile up at him like he was the light of the room when she was this _hurt_. And he didn’t understand why she looked at him like she did, unsuspicious and relaxed, like he was supposed to be in the room with her. When he’d been with her, Sansa’s hair was done in a braid down the middle of her back and she moved easily, barefoot across the floor. The house was obviously very familiar to her; there was a strange ease in her eyes as she leaned against the counter or ran to fetch his jacket.

A week later, Sandor couldn’t get her out of his head. When he stuck his hand into the jacket pocket he’d found a little flower, and _she’d_ put it there. He hadn’t taken it out and whenever he put his hand in his pocket he felt it and remembered her. _Sansa._ He’d almost called her twice; he had her number saved in his phone, but he’d had his thumb poised over the _send_ button and never pressed it. He sat in a bar he liked, knowing the smoke and voices well. After finishing his first drink, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and glared at it, wanting to drink in peace. _Sansa._ Her name glowed on the screen and he left a bill on the table then stepped outside. “Sansa.” His voice was harsh, and he hoped she wouldn’t be put off by it.

“I thought you’d call.” Her voice was soft.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She paused, and Sandor almost apologized. Almost. “I don’t know,” Sansa said again, voice stronger. “But I got bored of waiting, so I called you instead.”

“Okay.” He didn’t know what to say. He walked to his car and sat down inside, not turning it on. His one drink was warming him, but not near enough to impair his thoughts. _Not near enough to satisfy me._

She paused again. “So do you want to go out with me?”

Sandor choked, half a laugh and half a snarl. “What?”

“You know. Join me for a drink, or dinner, or just walk around together. Or something.” 

Sandor was confused. No girl as pretty as her had ever wanted to be with him, or any girl ever. She was probably half his age, and he was just an old, scarred dog. “Why?” he repeated, feeling a little stupid.

“I’m getting tired of going around alone. Too many men leering at me.”

“What makes you think I won’t do the same?” he rasped. Sansa sighed. 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’ll--” 

Sandor interrupted. “I’d like to join you, little bird.” The words surprised him slightly, but he was glad he’d said them anyway. He closed his eyes and imagined her pretty face.

“Oh.” She sounded surprised, then told him where she was. After hanging up, Sandor started the engine and drove to see her.

The girl’s back was to him, and her hair was down, pushed over one shoulder. He paused and just looked at her for a moment. She was looking at her phone, and there was a small plate with crumbs on it sitting in front of her. Sandor crossed the floor and sat across from her. Sansa’s knees brushed his. She wore a necklace with a tiny silver wolf on it, and Sandor wanted to touch it, or maybe he wanted to touch her neck. But he didn’t; he kept his hands folded in his lap as he watched her look at her phone. Slowly Sansa cast her eyes up to his, and she smiled. Sandor’s mouth twitched. He wanted to smile back but somehow he couldn’t. It would be out of place on him anyway. “Hi,” she said easily. “How are you?”

Sandor shrugged, not caring to speak yet. He took her in, the openness of her expression disconcerting. He’d never met someone who could meet his eyes for as long, or seemed as comfortable doing so. He looked down at his lap. “You’re too trusting,” he ground out. “Might be I wanted to hurt you, and I could. Easily.” Sandor watched her and saw her face _change_. The smile disappeared but he couldn’t apologize; he’d already said the words. 

“Am I?” He nodded, but she hadn’t really wanted an answer. She kept speaking. “You’re mistaking my lack of fear.” She paused; it was the first time she wasn’t behaving like she owned a piece of the sun. She was biting her lip and Sandor wanted to bite it for her. “I _don’t_ trust you, Sandor…” Sandor started at the sound of his name. “…but I’m not afraid of you. You don’t scare me, and you don’t want to hurt me, either. I don’t trust in that; I know it. And that’s still not trusting _you_.” While she spoke, her eyes flashed with a new fire. Her hands were in fists on the table, but when she finished her hands fell into her lap and she looked down at the table. Sansa seemed to grow smaller.

Slowly, Sandor reached out to touch her yellow bruise but she turned her face away and he dropped his hand. “Did I,” he swallowed. “Did I make you angry?”

Sansa blushed and a small smile appeared on her face. “Maybe a little.”

“I feel accomplished.”

“You should. Not everyone can do that.”

Sandor gazed silently at her for a while. Maybe it was impolite, but he felt content and he didn’t care much about propriety anyway. She stared right back at him, and suddenly her tiny hand was settled on his. He hadn’t noticed it moving across the table. He turned his hand over so he could hold hers. She smiled.

“Sansa,” he said carefully. “How old are you?” 

Her eyes widened slightly. “Nineteen. You?”

“Thirty.” _Almost._ She looked younger than she was. Sandor absorbed this information and closed his eyes briefly. Sighing, he looked back up at her. The clock behind her read that it was late, later than he’d thought. He held onto her hand and slid out of the booth. “I think it’s time for me to go home.” Sansa nodded and he thought he could see a flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

They walked out of the diner together and Sandor walked her to her car. He turned to leave but she called out his name, and he faced her again. He couldn’t see her, and suddenly he felt pressure on his cheek, the burned side. He couldn’t feel it, not really, but it was there. Sandor fought down the urge to flinch and then she kissed him. Automatically he kissed her back, a low groan twisting up from his throat. Her movements were chaste, and before he could push her into more he stepped back. _No._ He couldn’t handle this, and he swore loudly as he stalked away, leaving her in the parking lot as he drove away.

 


	4. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments!

Sansa’s phone rang. It buzzed in her pocket and she put it to her ear without looking to see who’d called her. “Hello?” she mumbled, distractedly dragging fingers through her hair.

“Hi. Did I wake you?” _Sandor._ She’d thought he was angry with her, but he’d called her. She sighed and put down the book she’d been absorbed in just moments before. 

“No, I… I thought you weren’t…I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” _Thought you didn’t want to look at me._

“I thought so too, but…” He sighed. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t know what to say. Maybe it would be easier in person. “Do you want to pick me up?”

“Okay.”

Sansa told him to come over in an hour, then hung up and went to shower. She’d been in bed nearly all day, reading her book and dozing, enjoying tea and basking in Joffrey’s absence. He hadn’t tried to contact her since _that_ night, and it was lovely. 

Sansa stepped outside, smiling up at the sky. The day was warm but cloudy, threatening to rain. She loved the rain. Sitting on the front steps, she opened her book and returned to where she’d stopped reading, and waited.

Suddenly Sandor was in front of her. She blushed. “I didn’t hear you pull up.” He offered her a hand up but she ignored it and stood, swallowing hard. “Hi, Sandor.” Her voice was soft. He didn’t reply, his gaze guarded. “Let’s go,” she said, and they went.

Sansa smiled up at him, but he didn’t look at her, didn’t speak to her. After several minutes she frowned. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.

“You look happy.”

“I’m always happy.”

“More than normal.”

Sansa smiled. _How does he know what_ normal _is?_

“Haven’t seen my boyfriend in a week.”

“Haven’t seen me in a week…”

“I’m seeing you now.”

“Why did you kiss me?” he growled. He’d stopped at a park but they hadn’t gotten out. His eyes flicked over to hers, his expression intense. Sansa saw his fist curl tighter on the steering wheel and she stared defiantly at him. She shrugged.

“It felt right.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Why not?” Her voice had quieted and she dug her fingernails into her palm, waiting for his rejection. Sandor got out of the car and stepped around to her side, wrenching open the door.

“It didn’t feel right for _me_.” His words were a rough snarl. It wasn’t true, Sansa could sense it, but he was convincing enough to make her angry. She narrowed her eyes, unbuckling her seat and pushing him out of the way, taking angry strides across the grass.

“You’re a good liar.” She pressed her fingernails deeper into her skin, the sting of it calming her a little. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling slowly. “I don’t know what this is, Sandor. I don’t know what I want it to be. Not really sure how much I care. But to see you run away from me like that…” Sansa looked up again, eyes passing over his scars. Her words died on her lips, and she bit them to stop herself from smiling. _I smile too much. Even when I don’t want to._

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.” He looked at the ground.

“I don’t know what to do, either. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but...” Her words were tiny. “I’m not ready for… anything more than friends… if you’d have me, I mean.” At her words he looked angry again, and he took a step toward her, grasping her chin roughly.

“You have a boyfriend,” he spat, and wetness rolled down her cheeks.

“I don’t have a _friend_ ,” she sniffed, and slowly Sandor’s eyes softened. He reached up to her face, wiping the tears away with a calloused thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’d like to be your friend.”

Sansa looked up at him, feeling a tiny smile grow on her lips. She nodded and rubbed at her eyes. Sandor bent his head down so their faces were closer, and she looked away, trying not to blush. The corner of his mouth twitched. 

“How do you do that?” His voice was back to its raspy warm growl, and it was comforting.

“Do what?”

“You’re happy then angry then sad then scared. Is it easy?”

“Dwelling in emotions is tiring.” She shrugged. “Let’s go.”

“Little bird.” A low sound, barely audible, warming her from her heart.

 


	5. Telling

“What do you like to do in your free time?”

“Spend time with you.” She grinned at him and continued: “I like to read and watch movies… I sing sometimes.” 

 “You should sing for me, little bird.”

She blushed prettily. “Maybe,” Sansa whispered.

She’d taken him to the mall, and he’d been skeptical until she’d taken him to a bookstore. Sandor pulled a book off the shelf and pretended to read the summary on the back. He couldn’t focus; Sansa was too near. Sandor put the book back and followed her through the shelves as she moved toward the DVD section. She thumbed through discs, pausing every once in a while. Eventually she picked one up and showed it to him. “Let’s get this one!” she said happily. Sandor nodded automatically, then looked closer at the cover, which depicted a little girl, blond-haired and blue-eyed . He narrowed his eyes. 

“Is this going to be a stupid girl movie?” Sansa stared at him, then burst out laughing, her face scrunched up. Sandor glared at her. “Is it?” He towered over her, but she wasn’t fazed; she looked up at him, little giggles spilling from her lips. _Fuck._ He stared at her, trying his damnedest not to look at her mouth.

“Well, it’s certainly not a stupid _boy_ movie.” Sandor tried to scowl at her, but his mouth twitched and he relaxed. Sansa grinned and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the cash register. The feeling was electric. “I’m gonna get this… Oh, do you want anything?” _You._ Sandor shook his head. 

She paid for it. He tried to, because he figured it was expected, but she said she’d get him to pay for something later. “Because it’s a stupid girl movie,” she said, mock glaring at him. 

_Gods, she’s beautiful._ A stupid little girl, but beautiful. Sandor could barely breathe whenever she took his hand or stood near him, or even _looked_ at him with those pretty blue eyes; she didn’t even blink when he stood a little too close. 

He paid for ice cream. Having to take a piss, he said he’d buy one when he came back… He returned and he didn’t know where the little bird was. She’d been sitting at a table in the food court, but she wasn’t there. _Fuck._ Sandor cast his eyes around but she was nowhere, and then he heard her voice, trembling and angry. “…better than fucking _you._ ” Sandor spun around and saw her, her eyes wide, but when they caught his she stood a little straighter. He strode toward her. She was across the food court, but her high voice carried… 

“Worthless little cunt,” the blond bastard said, his fingers gripping her wrist tightly, and she reached up with her free hand and slapped him. Hard. Sandor felt a little pride swell, and then he reached them. He shoved her boyfriend to the ground and stepped over him toward Sansa and was _holding_ her like he hadn’t before, like he wanted to and couldn’t bear all at once. 

“Are you okay, little bird?” he growled into her ear, and she nodded, looking up at him. 

“Are _you_? You’re shaking.”

“Don’t let go,” he choked out, and she didn’t, grasped him tighter, murmuring ‘ _I’m fine’_ and ‘ _He didn’t hurt me’_ into his ear. Sandor knew that if she let go, he was might pummel her boyfriend within an inch of his life and maybe further, and Sandor knew he couldn’t do that and keep her.

She assured him several more times that she was fine, and after a while he began to believe her. He drove silently, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes were on him and she was rubbing her wrist, a little crook at the corner of her mouth. She was biting her lip absentmindedly. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, Sandor…” She paused. “How… how did you get your scars?”

_Fuck. Seven fucking hells, and I’m in them again, burning._ Sansa saw his expression and apologized quickly, but the little bird deserved an answer. So he told her. How his brother had found him with the toy knight and pushed his face into the flames, how it took three men to get Gregor off him. How his sister had stayed by his side while he healed. When Sandor finished speaking, he was shaking and Sansa reached over, squeezed his hand and didn’t let go.


	6. Singing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie they bought was The Book Thief, because adorable.

Sansa looked over at him. Her hair was spread out around her head, and Sandor’s hand rested on that fiery halo, letting strands wind between his fingers. She enjoyed the touch. When Sandor had grabbed a handful of her hair she’d stiffened at first, but his playing with it felt nice.

Sansa had the idea to have a picnic. She wasn’t sure if he’d enjoy it, but he had. They’d been talking for hours, the food long gone, and when the conversation died out they lay on a blanket that was laid out on the grass, enjoying the warm breeze.

She turned her head so she was facing up at the sky, breathing slowly. She could feel his gaze hot on her and it made her shiver. They only touched at their hands, her fingers curled inside his, but the feeling was electric, a live current thrumming through her hand and her heart. She stared up at the clouds, a quiet smile on her lips. Bruises had bloomed on her wrists from Joffrey’s grip. When Sandor had seen them he’d glared at them, as if his gaze could make them go away, but he didn’t say anything.

Finally he opened his mouth. “We need to talk or something. I’m falling asleep over here.” His voice relaxed her, and Sansa flicked her eyes toward his, turning on her side to face him, biting her lip.

And she began to sing. Her voice was shaky at first, but gained strength as she sang. She watched Sandor. At first he was looking at her, casting his eyes across her face. Then his eyes closed, pinched tight, and his hand that wasn’t holding hers clenched in a fist at his side. Sansa fell silent and just looked at him, then reached out slowly. She carefully settled her hand on his face, the burnt side, waiting for him to jerk away. He didn’t. Instead he opened his eyes, half-lidded and sleepy. “How can you look at me like that?” he murmured. 

Sansa tipped her head slightly, puzzled. “I don’t look at you like anything,” she said quietly.

Sandor shook his head. “Little bird, all I see in others’ eyes are fear, disgust, pity. Not yours. Yours hold the opposite… I don’t understand it.”

Sansa blushed at his endearment. “When Joffrey gave me these,” she began, showing him her bruises, “I looked at  _him_  with fear, disgust, and pity, and he doesn’t have any scars.” She smiled sadly and started to turn away, but Sandor twisted and caught her hand. He stared at her for a moment then pressed his lips against her wrist, her bruises. The contact made the ache return. His fingers were calloused, his lips soft… Sansa sighed. Something fluttered low in her stomach, burning.  _Fuck._ Sansa pulled herself away from him without snatching her arm back. “Let go,” she whispered. “Please, I can’t…”

And he released her, eyes dark, storm clouds at night. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (What Sandor meant to say:  
> “We need to talk or something. I’m falling in love over here.”)


	7. Sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Sansa sang was this:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czFgKa7YcIQ#t=116  
> 1:57 to 3:12.

Sansa was staring at the TV, totally engrossed in the movie. It was the one they’d bought before she’d slapped her boyfriend. Sandor enjoyed the memory, hearing the sharp _crack_ of her palm against Joffrey’s cheek. The bruises on her wrist had since faded.

Sandor gazed at her, watching as she stiffened and relaxed at the actions on screen. She was biting her lip and for a moment he seriously considered kissing her. It would be easy, and he knew she wouldn’t pull away. Might be she’d even kiss back… Sandor sighed and shifted on the sofa, stretching out a bit more and letting his head fall back to rest against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling.

Sandor woke with a weight on his chest. A strange warmth spread throughout his body, and something smelled of cinnamon… It was _her._ The little bird was curled up on top of him. _Fuck._ Sandor stopped breathing for a moment, shocked. Then he inhaled slowly, cinnamon invading his senses again, sharp and sweet and tantalizing. Sandor looked down at her again in wonder. _So beautiful._

Unbidden, his hand raised to the small of her back and rested there, and he felt the heat of her through hertee shirt. She was clutching a blanket near her shoulder; obviously she’d pulled it up to cover her, but it had fallen aside in the night. Her other hand rested on his chest, her fingertips brushing his collarbone with every breath he took.

Sandor knew he should leave, or at least wake her so she could sleep in her bed and he on the couch, but he couldn’t. He looked down at her; his eyes had adjusted and strips of moonlight illuminated the room. Slowly, his hand lifted from her back and he felt a shudder coursing through her. Sandor suppressed a groan and stilled for a moment, making sure her breathing was even. 

Her hair had fallen across her face, covering her mouth and one of her eyes. He lifted his hand to her face and carefully tucked the strands behind her ear. _A fire I’m not afraid of._ Sandor shifted a bit and grabbed his phone off the coffee table, seeing that it was 3:30 in the morning… but it wasn’t his phone. It was hers, and the background was a picture of a laughing couple, an older woman who looked a lot like the little bird, and a man who shared a few of her features as well. Her parents? Sansa had told him that they died a long time ago, and they’d given her the house. Sandor looked down at her again, setting the phone on the floor. _So pretty._ Sighing, he gathered her in his arms and stood, and she curled bonelessly into him, fitting perfectly. 

Sandor carried her to her bedroom, opening the door with his foot and pulling back the covers, tucking her in like she was a child. _She_ is _a child._ He brushed his fingers over her face and she opened her eyes, shining and dark. She didn’t speak, didn’t stir when he pressed a kiss against her forehead. The little bird didn’t make a sound when he left, closing the door quietly. 

 


	8. Kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what happens in this chapter! :3

She was napping when he called her. It had been two weeks since he’d carried her to her bed… and they hadn’t seen each other since. They’d talked on the phone several times, but whenever Sandor asked to see her she’d denied him. She didn’t tell him why, and the last time he’d called he’d gotten angry. It was a new type of anger she’d heard in him, raw and agonized. He’d told her he _loved_ her, and hearing that, her throat had twisted and she couldn’t speak. When she finally found words he’d hung up. 

 

Sandor’s name blinked on the screen and she held the phone up to her ear, digging her fingernails into her palm. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, and she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. She heard him breathing on the other end, a sigh.

 

“I’m coming over.” His voice was filled with a quiet fury, and Sansa knew not to protest.

 

“Okay,” she whispered, and then the line was dead. She let her phone tumble to the ground and she closed her eyes again, pulling her blanket tighter around her and falling asleep. Her dreams were confused tangles of emotion. She heard her parents calling her name, then Joffrey, then _him_ , his rough voice strangely comforting.

 

“Little bird.” _Oh._ She struggled back to wakefulness and raked her hair back from her face, and opened one eye to see his knees. She mumbled something and sat up, looking at her lap, running her fingers through tangled red hair.

 

“Hi, Sandor.” She didn’t look up at him. He sat down next to her, about a foot away. She could feel his gaze on her but still she didn’t face him. 

“Are you okay?” His voice made her shiver and she shook her head, fidgeting, her fingers twisting in her lap. Then Sandor spoke again, and his voice rumbled through her. “Look at me.” His tone had an edge to it and she turned her face to his. His eyes widened, seeing the dark purple bruise that was new on her cheek. “What happened?” His voice was low and controlled, but his hands were trembling.

 

“I broke up with Joffrey. He got so angry,” she whispered. A pause. “He always looks so funny when he’s angry. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so scared.” Sandor’s eyes darkened into something dangerous and she looked down at her lap again. “He hit me twice. Here first,” she pointed to her cheek, “then here.” Her side. “The second one made me spin into the wall and I hit my hip, hard. I must have made so much noise from hitting the wall that he was satisfied, so he left.” Her eyes burned. She rubbed at them and she felt him shift on the couch, then stand up. 

 

“I need to step outside for a moment. Stay here.” Sansa laughed feebly. She wasn’t going anywhere. She heard him striding out the front door, and he closed it quietly behind him. Alone, she felt tears welling up underneath her eyelids, and she let them fall. Then a _thud_ sounded, and the house shook. She heard Sandor curse loudly and she jumped a bit. Sandor walked back into the house and sat next to her, closer this time. He set her phone on the coffee table. Sansa looked up at him, confused, and reached for her phone. Joff’s name was the most recent call… 

 

“What did you tell him?”

 

“He won’t be bothering you again.” His gaze was intense. She saw him slowly lift his hand, and his thumb wiped under her eyes. Sansa shifted closer to him and she heard him curse under his breath. “Don’t leave your key under the bloody doormat. Is that how he got in?” Sansa shook her head _no_ , and the motion caused his hand to move so he was cupping her cheek.

 

“He has a key.” His mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “I’m sorry,” she said, and he shook his head, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and his hand moved down, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Sansa shivered and his hand left her face. She looked at him. “Sandor.” Saying his name felt lovely. She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

 

And he kissed her. She could feel the roughness of the burns and she kissed him back, her hands fisted in the blanket at her sides. He was gentle, but she could still feel the strength of his hands, one on her face and one at her neck. Carefully she touched her tongue to his lips and he groaned, opening his mouth and kissing her more deeply.

 

She wanted it to stop. Sansa didn’t feel uncomfortable at all, and that was the problem. She wasn’t used to it. Slowly she put her hands on his chest and pushed him, and he broke the kiss, looking at her. His eyes were dark but not in anger, she knew that. “I’ve… I’ve never been kissed like _that_ before,” Sansa said. She couldn’t work up a smile, but she felt her face soften. Sandor’s expression was unreadable as he moved his hands to her shoulders, resting his hands on them lightly. He pushed her down gently and lay behind her, pulling the blanket up over them both. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. Warmth spread throughout her body and she sighed, relaxing. “He never held me like this, either,” she murmured, and they fell asleep quietly.

 


	9. Trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll probably be wrapping up within the next five chapters... :)

_Beautiful red hair._ He stroked it gently, feeling her warmth pressed up against him. She mumbled little things in her sleep, and Sandor could feel himself breaking apart just a little, bit by bit. They’d been asleep for about two hours, and the sun was setting, casting a red glow over everything.

 

Eventually her breathing changed. _She’s awake._ Sandor tightened his arms slightly. She twisted around to face him, and he gazed down at her. The bruise was not as bright as it had been and her eyes brighter. “What are we doing?” Her voice was soft, content. Sandor didn’t answer, instead bending his head to brush his lips across hers. He felt her smile but she didn’t kiss back. She sighed happily. “I could stay here forever. Just like this.”

 

“Then stay.” His voice was low and gravelly, and she blushed, a shiver running through her body. She snuggled further into him, tucking the top of her head beneath his chin.

They fell silent again for a while, but after several minutes Sandor felt her place her hands flat on his chest. He looked down at her, and she pushed against his chest, rolling off the couch and standing in one sinuous movement. Sandor inhaled sharply, watching her.

 

“I need to shower,” she mumbled, and Sandor quirked an eyebrow.

 

“May I join you?” he asked, teasing, and Sansa turned pink. She shook her head quickly then darted down the hall, Sandor’s low laughter following her.

 

She returned ten minutes later, clean and dressed. Her hair was still wet, little water droplets falling onto her tee shirt, trailing down her neck… _Fuck._ Sandor watched as she sat down near his legs, dragging a brush through her hair, wincing when she reached a tangle. After a few moments Sandor sat up, moving so he was sitting behind her, and took the brush from her. When she turned her head in confusion, he kissed her cheek softly. “Turn around,” he murmured, and she obeyed. Gathering a piece of her hair in one hand, he began to brush her hair, starting at the bottom and getting rid of each snarl slowly. Soon all the tangles were out and still he ran the brush through her hair.

 

Sansa reached toward him and took the brush, dropping it to the floor, then grasped his hand. Slowly she pulled his arm around her middle and leaned back against him, and Sandor pushed her hair over her shoulder, wrapping his other arm around her. He pressed his lips against her pulse point, fluttering gently in her neck and he inhaled quietly, smelling cinnamon. He felt her let out a tiny sigh. She didn’t move for a long time, and Sandor almost thought she’d fallen asleep.

 

Then she spoke. “I’m not ready for…” She paused, her fingertips drifting over his hands, the callouses, the scars. “I know how I feel about you, Sandor, and I do want this, but… I’ve never been in a real relationship before. And I don’t know what to do.”

 

“I haven’t either, little bird,” he mumbled against her neck. He released her and she stood up, smiling at him. Sandor just stared. “You’re beautiful,” he blurted, and Sansa flushed, a deep pink spreading over her face and her neck, and under her collar… _Fuck._ Sandor looked away.

 

“Well… would you like go and get something to eat? I’m hungry.”

 

Sandor nodded, his stomach growling in response. Sansa looked over at him and giggled. She fucking _giggled._ He’d never heard her do _that_ … Before he could make a fool of himself, he stood and gathered his things from the coffee table, then followed her out the front door.

 


	10. Loving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Finally!

After eating, Sansa felt much better. She kept catching Sandor looking at her, but instead of holding his gaze, he always looked away. She’d never known him to be shy before, and it was disconcerting, but she didn’t say anything. They spent the evening walking, learning more about each other. Being with him was easy.

Sandor suggested she stay with him for the night. _To keep my little bird safe,_ he said. While Sansa didn’t share his concern, she liked the idea of seeing where he lived. Like a slumber party. She smiled at the thought. 

“Wait here,” she said, rising on her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. He tried to snatch at her, but she darted from his grasp with a mischievous smile. She left him in the hall, going to her room to pack a duffel bag with clothes, pajamas, and a few toiletries.

She returned to find Sandor in the kitchen. When he heard her approach, he turned around. “Lemon cakes?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Sansa blushed and nodded. “They’re my favorite.” She paused, adjusting the strap of the duffel bag on her shoulder. “I’m ready to go.” 

Sandor followed her from the house, uncharacteristically quiet. 

Sandor’s apartment fit him. It was clean and sparse, mostly undecorated. Sansa saw his jacket hanging on a doorknob in the hall. Taped to the door was a picture of two small children, a boy and a girl, playing under a large shady tree.

“That’s me and my sister. Before I was burned.” Sansa jumped when he felt his hands on her waist, turning her around to face him. Sandor pressed her against the wall and she swallowed, seeing his dark expression. Sandor bent to kiss her, his lips pressing insistently against hers. Her eyes drifted shut in contentment and she opened her mouth slightly, allowing him to intensify the kiss. His hands were light on her sides and she raised her hands to his neck, pulling him closer… Then he squeezed, thumb pressing straight into the bruise on her hip, and pain shot through her. Sansa’s eyes flew open, breaking the kiss. She inhaled sharply and Sandor released her, taking two quick steps backward. His hands were in fists and he cursed. “I’m so sorry, little bird,” he choked out. Sansa was too shocked to respond and he stormed off, leaving her in the hall. 

After a few seconds, Sansa followed him into what looked like his bedroom. She heard a lock click in a door to her right, and a few seconds later, a spray of water. Sansa sighed. The clock on his nightstand said it was late, so she changed into her pajamas and slid under the covers.

When she felt his weight in the bed, she reached out to grasp his hand. “You didn’t mean to. It’s okay,” she whispered, and she could feel him relax with a gusty exhalation.

“I don’t want to hurt you, little bird, not even by accident.” He pulled her to him, encasing her in his arms. “Sansa…”

Suddenly she could hear the emotion in his voice, the same passion that she felt for him. Smiling in the dark, she stretched her neck up to press a chaste kiss on his mouth. “I love you,” she said simply, resting her head on his chest, drifting slowly into sleep.

* * *

 

She woke in the middle of the night, her hands in fists and her breath tight in her throat. A nightmare… but it didn’t matter, because Sandor was beside her. When she rolled over to settle herself against his body, his arms went around her, and she knew she was safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks to everyone who's written nice comments or kudoed Unafraid. :) Everyone on the sansan tag seems really nice...
> 
> I'm back! School is out and I have nothing to do... except daydream about Sandor. And write. I have more things that are finished or are close to being finished, so I'll be posting those. It's mostly oneshots or little drabble-y things, but I'll work on my other longer fics in between those.
> 
> Happy sansan-ing.


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